


The Mark of the Scarlet Pimpernel

by Eccentwrit



Category: The Scarlet Pimpernel - All Media Types, Zorro - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Ambiguous Historical Accuracy, But in a 1795 of my own making where history is my sandbox, Gen, Identity Reveal, It takes place during 1795, Secret Identity, Western, ambiguous time period, but I throw in some easter eggs for the history buffs, by that I mean it's not very historically accurate, chapter warnings will be given at the start of each chapter, gunfights, possibly, you'll have to see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-09-06 14:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8757034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eccentwrit/pseuds/Eccentwrit
Summary: Sir Percy Blakeney met a young Diego de la Vega many years ago during a brief trip to Spain. The two became fast friends until time, distance, and Percy's foppish trivialities drove them apart.Now Percy finds himself in Spanish California following the trail of Marie Therese Charlotte, the only surviving daughter of the former King and Queen of France, and must ensure her safety before Monsieur Robespierre's agents reunite her with her parents. In a foreign land where everything from his mannerisms to his very voice mark him as an outsider, Percy calls on the aid of his old friend- if, indeed, their friendship can be salvaged. Futhermore, this far from home Percy cannot rely on his name, his fortune, or any assets his relationship with the League can afford him. He is well and truly on his own.  But Marie Therese proves difficult to find, and the masked outlaw Zorro causes more problems than he fixes for Percy. All the while Percy must maintain his own disguise as an air-headed dandy throughout the whole thing whilst also trying to uncover a secret of a more personal interest- just what caused the young, courageous, hot-headed Diego he knew in Spain to change so drastically?





	1. Sir Percy Arrives

**Author's Note:**

> I'm mixing my characterizations from multiple sources.  
> I'm getting my version of Diego de la Vega from a blend of the 1957 Disney show, the movie The Mask of Zorro (1998), and Zorro by Isabel Allende.  
> I'm getting my version of Percy Blakeney from a mix of the Scarlet Pimpernel (1982), the Scarlet Pimpernel (1934), The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Orczy, and the Adventures of the Scarlet Pimpernel (1955).  
> Other than that I'm also basically throwing out canon time frames. This is set sometime in 1795. I know Zorro doesn't really get going until the 1810s-1820s, but lets just say that Diego's born a couple generations earlier and that he's about 20 in 1795. Percy is approximately 5 years older than Diego in this, as an aside. Also, in this the French Revolution happened a few years later than in real life- beginning sometime in either 1792 or 1793 rather than in 1789.

Diego de la Vega was the only child of Don Alejandro de la Vega, a wealthy ranchero in Spanish California. More importantly though, Sir Percy Blakeney considered him a close, personal friend.

He had met Diego during a brief stint to Spain- publicly to purchase expensive Spanish cloth, privately to hone his skill with the blade. Diego had only recently arrived to the country for schooling purposes and ran into Sir Percy while out exploring the city of Barcelona.

Percy could remember it quite well.

The young man had been in obvious distress, walking a few steps one way before aborting the motion and turning the other way, only for the same thing to occur again. He had stopped and turned around to look at the building behind him, hands resting on his hips.

Percy pulled up on the reins, bringing his horse to a halt behind the young man. “Odd’s fish my dear sir, but you seem to me to be quite lost.” He had said genially, in a voice he usually reserved for the company of the English court.

The young man jumped, spinning to meet Percy’s smiling face. He flushed. “Ah, yes, it would seem that way.” He said, shifting in place. “Pardon me if you don’t seem a bit out of place as well.” He pointed out.

Percy gave a light laugh. “Ha, so you noticed my accent then. Indeed, I am an Englishman. Sir Percy Blakeney, at your service.” He leaned down to offer his hand.

“Diego de la Vega.” The young man introduced himself with a smile, shaking Percy’s hand.

Percy adjusted his arm onto his leg, allowing him to continue conversing with de la Vega comfortably. “The matter still stands, however, that you seem lost and I have been in the city for nearly a month now. Perhaps I can assist you in finding your way.” He smiled.

“I would be most grateful.” De la Vega replied, nodding his head politely. “I am to be a student at the local university, just arrived from California. It is only my third day in this city and I wished to see the area. Though it seems I did not know my path as well as I had thought and have now managed to lose my way.” De la Vega gestured to the building behind him. “I was considering asking for directions from the owners when you surmised my problem.” He turned back to Percy, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops.

Percy nodded, assessing the man in front of him. Diego de la Vega was obviously from a wealthy family if the quality of clothes and the ease of which he wore them were anything to go by, even if they were a tad outdated. Intelligent too, given that all of the local schools were well known for their strict admissions policies. Diego de la Vega was also very fit, a young man in his prime and he knew it. Furthermore he seemed to Percy to be a good man, an easy smile often indicated a kind heart. All worthwhile traits in Percy’s book.

“Well, no need for that now. I can gladly take you back to your university.” Percy told him brightly. “But first,” he said, extending his hand to Diego de la Vega again, “I insist you come get a drink with me.”

Diego smiled broadly. “That would be most welcome, my friend.” He said, clasping Percy’s hand tightly and swinging himself up and onto the back of the horse, right behind Sir Percy. Percy took a moment to adjust to the extra weight and nudged his horse forward. It wasn’t longer than a moment before de la Vega spoke again. “I appreciate your assistance, sir, and I wish to repay you for your kindness.”

Percy waved off the offer. There was nothing de la Vega could offer him that he could not get for himself. “Nonsense. I couldn’t possibly be bothered for such a small favor.”

But Diego de la Vega was not satisfied to leave debts unsettled, even if those debts existed solely in his mind. “At any rate,” he said, “if you ever find yourself in California, you will discover the de la Vega home open to you my friend.”

Percy smiled. “A most gracious offer that I hope to one day take you up on.”

From there they had settled into an easy conversation. Percy learned that Diego de la Vega was a youth of fifteen studying at the School of Humanities and staying at the home of a family friend, one Don Tomas de Romeu. He learned that Diego was an avid scholar and gymnast, and Percy was eagerly introduced to his swordmaster days later. Diego was also something of a prodigy with his swordsmanship he found, and Percy returned frequently to bout with him. A lesser man would have been ashamed at his continued losses, but Percy had honed his skill more by challenging Diego than he had yet during his entire trip, despite Diego de la Vega being nearly five years his junior. Diego, desiring to impress his newfound friend, had also tried to pass along his skill with the bullwhip. While less successful than his progression with the sword, Percy managed to reach an acceptable handling of the tool and in the years following the Scarlet Pimpernel would come to consider it an invaluable skill.

Another useful skill Percy learned during his time in Spain he acquired not through Diego de la Vega, but from his manservant, Bernardo. Bernardo, who was mute, communicated almost entirely through hand signals, and Percy could immediately see the worth of such skill. Of course, de la Vega had questioned Percy’s interests in such a variety of skills, but Percy never failed to give him an airy reply that it was simply an unusual skill that would no doubt entertain the court. A fanciful excuse that ultimately told de la Vega nothing of importance.

In turn Percy instructed de la Vega in the ways of the English court, and, more specifically, in the ways of charming people. Perhaps the most difficult lesson Percy imparted onto his young friend was the ability to bide his time. Diego de la Vega, Percy came to know, was a rash and impetuous person by nature. While somewhat charming in a youth, Percy knew it would quickly spoil on Diego unless he learned to curb his action with prudence.

In a matter of weeks Percy and Diego had become fast friends. And so it was with a heavy heart that the day came that Percy had to leave Spain and return to England and that they bid farewell.

The two managed to keep up correspondence for quite a while. Towards the end, though, both had written less and less- Diego had his school work and Percy was kept busy with the court as well as as the Scarlet Pimpernel.

Their separation was also in part Percy’s fault. Diego was a man of action and great courage, and when Percy took up the mantle of the Scarlet Pimpernel he further embraced the public image of a fop and dandy, and this charade extended into every aspect of his life- including his letters to young Don de la Vega, who had no tolerance for cowards. Slowly but surely Diego disapproved of his old friend to the degree that it created a near insurmountable rift that finally peaked when Diego wrote to him to inform him he was travelling back to California. Percy had’t received any letters from his young friend since.

That had been years ago.

Percy was unsure if their friendship still survived, though he would soon find out. After all, he was recently arrived at Santa Barbara, California, just a day’s ride from the de la Vega hacienda in Los Angeles.

Sir Percy spared a moment to admire the city. Santa Barbara was small in comparison to the sprawling city of Monterey Percy had seen when he arrived there several days prior, yet it held a certain unique charm about it. If every city in California were like this he could understand why Diego was so enamoured with his home. Pity he wouldn’t have time to properly enjoy his stay in California.

The news had come to him rather suddenly; that Marie-Thérèse Charlotte de France, the only daughter of Marie Antoinette- god rest her soul- had been seen in California after having fled France to escape Madame la Guillotine. Rumors like that were hardly uncommon, and at first Percy and his League had dismissed them as nothing more than that. But the Pimpernel had eyes everywhere and it reached his ears that Robespierre himself entertained these rumors, which of course merited Percy’s own investigation into the matter.

If Marie-Thérèse lived, and was in California, it was imperative Percy learn of her whereabouts and the conditions of her presence here. As it was he still did not know if she was here of her own volition or if there were more nefarious purposes at work. What he did know is that she would be vital to restoring order to France and to her allies after the revolution had run its course.

Naturally Monsieur Robespierre and the Committee of Public Safety would rather ensure Mademoiselle Marie-Thérèse’s reunion with her parents. This he could not afford.

Once he had located Marie-Thérèse and determined her safety, then and only then could he return to England and his wife Marguerite. He would have wished to bring her, but this trip was far too dangerous for her to join him, especially in her condition. Until then he would have to make due without his fortune, without his League, and without many of his connections and failsafes.

It struck Percy suddenly, standing in the dusty street of Santa Barbara, that his endeavor could easily end up much more difficult than anticipated.

That was why the first item on his agenda was to restore the bonds of friendship with Diego de la Vega- he would need his friend’s sponsorship if he wished to get anywhere in this land. Here the de la Vega name had a weight the Blakeney name did not.

He had sent a letter ahead several days ago- it was the first thing he had done when he arrived at the port of Monterey- detailing his arrival in the country and his intention to visit his friend. Hopefully Diego would not rescind his offer to allow Percy to stay at his home. If he did, Percy would have to watch the weight of his purse carefully.

Percy carefully made his way to the Presidio Real de Santa Barbara. He had only made arrangements at Monterey for them to take him this far. However the governor had assured him a military escort to Los Angeles would be provided at Santa Barbara as well. All he had to do was notify the comandante and the matter would be settled.

The Presidio was the heart of the town. As such Percy had no difficulty finding it. It was a looming, impressive structure that anyone would be proud of, and indeed the Santa Barbara residents were quite pleased with it. Two guards stood in front of the gates when Percy approached. “Good,” he began imperiously, “afternoon.” Percy reached into his coat pocket. “I am Sir Percy Blakeney, baronet. I have brought with me a letter from the dear governor of Monterey granting me an escort to Los Angeles.” He flicked out the letter for the nearer guard to inspect.

The guard took it and quickly read the letter. “Aye, so you do. I will show this to the comandante immediately.” He said, opening the gate. “Follow me señor.” He motioned for Percy to come through.

The Cuartel was massive, easily holding hundreds of people comfortably. One of which, Percy knew, was Capitan Jose Guerrera, the comandante of Santa Barbara. The guard led Percy up a flight of stairs and pounded on the door at the top. “Señor Comandante, Señor Comandante! It is Private Martinez. There is a man here to see you; he has a letter from the governor.” Private Martinez said through the door.

There was a moment of silence before Percy faintly heard “Come in,” from the other side. With Private Martinez leading Percy was brought into a rather spacious office. Behind the desk was the stern figure of Comandante Guerrera.

Capitan Guerrera was an older gentleman, though it was evident he had not weakened any with age. His hair was streaked with grey and his hands tanned and thick with calluses from years of laboring in the sun. He was, Percy could tell, the kind of man that would have no patience for a court fop.

A pity. In another life Percy would have wished to earn this man’s respect.

Private Martinez handed Guerrera the letter. “The letter says, sir,” Private Martinez began as Guerrera opened the letter and began reading for himself, “that Señor Blakeney here should be escorted to Los Angeles.”

Guerrera nodded, sharply folding the letter in half. “I see,” he said, setting the letter down. He leaned forward, “Of course I will do as the governor asks, but you will understand if I wish to ask you some questions myself, just to be sure there is no trick?” He asked, though it was clear it was not a question, but an order.

Percy answered with an inane laugh. “Oh go right on ahead,” he said, flourishing his hands about as he spoke. Percy daintily stepped over to where a wooden chair was set off to the side. He turned the chair with just the tips of his fingers, angling it so that it now faced Comandante Guerrera. “I shall sit here and we will have a nice chat. I must thank you for your hospitality, it is nice to get to sit down after such harrowing journey as I have had.” Percy exclaimed, collapsing into the hard chair dramatically. He made a show of shifting around uncomfortably and made a sour face. “My, my this is rather unpleasant. You soldiers must never get anything done if you all must sit in chairs as hard as this one.”

Guerrera did not look pleased at Percy’s assessment of his furniture. “My men are disciplined enough that they can serve his majesty no matter what the conditions.” He said, frowning.

Percy tittered. “It’s Lord.” He said, smoothing out the fabric of his pants before crossing his legs.

Guerrera’s frown deepened. “What?”

“My appropriate form of address,” Percy told him primly, “is Lord, not majesty, though I am flattered Captain.” He said, smirking slightly with a hand thrown over his heart.

Guerrera stared at him, possibly wondering if someone as stupid as Lord Percy could truly exist. Percy often found himself wondering the same thing. “Right.” Guerrera said after the silence had stretched on just a hair past polite. “Of course.” Guerrera shook his head clear. “You said something about your trip here. Did you have any trouble?”

Percy sighed, slumping into the chair with despair. “Oh, it was dreadful!” He exclaimed, taking out his handkerchief to blot at his forehead.

Despite his already obvious contempt for Lord Percy, it was to Capitan Guerrera’s credit that he seemed genuinely concerned. “So you did have trouble. Was is banditos? Are you injured?”

Percy waved his concerns away, though internally he was charmed by Guerrera’s compassion. “Oh no, nothing like that. Why, if I had been attacked by- what was it you said? Bantitos?- if I had been attacked by bantitos I would have surely died of fright.” Lord Percy said, clutching the front of his shirt for effect. “It’s far more worse, I’m afraid.”

Guerrera’s eyes widened. “Worse? Was someone killed?” Guerrera made to rise from his chair.

“No, it’s the heat.” Percy interrupted him. “The heat and this infernal dust.”

Percy could see the concern bleed out of Guerrera’s hard eyes as he sat back down. “Ah, I see. The dust and the heat bother you. Well, I’m afraid no man has power over the weather. Unfortunately for you, señor, such conditions are quite common here in California, so if you are staying a while it would be best to get used to them.” The Comandante told him, devoid of sympathy.

“But you don’t understand!” Lord Percy protested, “it’s ruining my clothes! How can I be expected to go anywhere if I can wear nothing presentable?”

Guerrera was not amused. “Then I suggest finding a tailor. I have more questions.”

Lord Percy groaned. “If you insist.” He said, giving Guerrera a dismissive wave.

Guerrera narrowed his eyes at the rude gesture. “What is your business here in California and how long do you intend to stay?” He asked harshly.

Percy hesitated only a second. “Men such as ourselves need to take vacations every once in awhile, otherwise the stress would make all of us unpleasant company. Besides, it is deserved with all of the hard work we do.” He said, as obnoxiously charming as possible.

Percy could see Guerrera struggling not to scoff at the idea of ‘Lord Percy’ actually doing any hard work. He looked rather like he had swallowed a lemon. “Naturally.” The comandante agreed stiffly. “But why here? Surely you could find someplace closer to England to go.” He asked, clearly wishing Percy had chosen a location closer to home and consequently farther away from Guerrera to go to on vacation.

Percy shrugged. “Oh, but I’ve already been to so many places, and California is quite an exotic destination. Besides,” he continued, “a trip to Loss Angelles also allows me the chance to reunite with my old friend, Diego. It has been many years since I last saw him.”

Interest sparked in Guerrera’s eye. “Surely you don’t mean Don Diego de la Vega?”

Percy glanced at him. “Well who else would I be talking about?” He asked. “Do you know him, then?” Percy said, inspecting his fingernails, watching Guerrera out of the corner of his eye.

The comandante shook his head. “By reputation only, I’m afraid. He and his father are well-respected figures here. I did not realize he had friends in- England, was it?”

Percy nodded. “Yes, I am from England, though I met Diego while in Barcelona purchasing wares. He had just arrived for school then. Like I said, it has been many years. Is he well?” Percy asked, gauging Guerrera’s response.

Guerrera relaxed in the way men do when they dismiss another from being a threat. Excellent. “From what I hear Don Diego is in good health, not that he does much to jeopardize it.” He laughs. “But I’m sure you are familiar with that aspect of his character, no? After all, from what I hear and have seen it seems you and Don Diego have many similarities.”

Percy paused. “That is,” not how he remembered Diego de la Vega, “good to hear.” He ultimately decided to say. After another break in the conversation that lasted a bit longer than it should’ve, Percy cleared his throat. “I do believe you were about dispatch some men for my escort?”

Guerrera startled. “Ah, yes.” He said, shuffling the papers on his desk around. “I will send some men to get your things immediately. Where are they?”

“I spent the night at the inn just down the road from here. It was recommended to me from the drivers sent with me from Monterey. I’ve discovered that the innkeeper’s wife makes an excellent roast.” Lord Percy gushed.

The comandante nodded. “El Sol Naciente. I know the place.” He raised his hand, waving Private Martinez over. “Send Sergeant Ramos and Corporal Gonzalez to El Sol Naciente to pick up, eh,” he paused, glancing at Percy with disdain, “Lord Percy’s belongings and tell them to prepare a carriage for Los Angeles.” He told the private.

Private Martinez looked back at Percy briefly, and nodded. “Aye, sir. Right away.” He saluted and left.

“Well,” Percy commented lightly in wake of being left alone with the comandante for the first time, “you certainly seem to run a tight ship. I feel safer already.” He smiled at Guerrera tightly.

Capitan Guerrera grunted. “The men here are some of the best in the country. You have nothing to worry about from them.” Guerrera fiddled with his papers again. “Now, it would be best to wait for Ramos and Gonzalez at the inn while your carriage is readied. No doubt you will be more,” he paused, eyeing where Percy shifted in his seat, “ah, comfortable there rather than here.”

Percy smiled broadly at his. “What an excellent idea command-ante!” He exclaimed, standing up and clapping his hands together in his enthusiasm. Guerrera winced at his butchering of his title. Percy pretended not to notice. “I shall do so immediately and be sure to have a glass in your honor. Au revoir. Or should I say adeyos?” He laughed gaily.

“Hehe, sure señor, adios.” Guerrera said, eager for Percy’s departure.

“I’ll be sure to tell the governor how wonderful the command-ante of Santa Barbara is.” Percy added as he made to leave.

Guerrera waved him off. “Si, si, I would be grateful. Have a good trip.” The comandante said as he ushered Percy away.

Percy waved farewell in the manner he had seen several court ladies do as he closed the door to the comandante’s office behind him. One hurdle had been surmounted- onto the next. Luckily he knew precisely how to move forward from here. The comandante’s suggestion had been a good one, and he was rather parched.

He made his way down the stairs and out the gate, taking note of all the soldiers he could see milling about, training, or taking guard of the various posts in the Cuartel. He walked down the street towards El Sol Naciente. Comandante Guerrera was right about his men, even from here he could see a carriage was already being loaded up with his bags, which was certainly faster than he was expecting. Apparently his air-headed act had irritated the comandante more than he realized, if he wanted him gone this quickly. Percy couldn’t help but give a quiet laugh at his own thoughts as he drew up next to where Sergeant Ramos and Corporal Gonzalez were tying down a suitcase.

“What a marvelous job you are doing with my bags!” He exclaimed with an exaggerated sweep of his hand. “Odd’s fish I doubt the footmen at home could do a finer work!” He approached the sergeant lazily.

Sergeant Ramos looked up from his work. “Señor Blakeney?” He asked in the curt manner of the locals.

Percy affected a dimwitted smile. “Indeed I am, my fine fellow,” he said to the sergeant “and when you are done I simply must ask you to share a drink with me.”

The sergeant and corporal exchanged a look. “That is most gracious, señor, but we were told that you wished to leave immediately.” The sergeant said, speaking for them both, “and we are almost done with your bags.”

“Well, another time then.” Percy said genially in his drawling dandy voice, clapping the sergeant on the back. He made an unsubtle show of grimacing at the sweat on the sergeant’s back and slowly withdrawing his hand, shaking it out and wiping it off with his handkerchief.

“Si, another time.” The sergeant said dubiously. “We will get the rest of your bags now, señor.” He said hurriedly. The corporal nodded enthusiastically behind him.

Percy grinned. “I will help you! It should be such fun; I’ll practically be a vakero myself-”

“No, no that is not necessary.” The sergeant said, stopping him with a hand. “The corporal and I can handle it. Here,” he said, opening the carriage door, “you can wait here while the corporal and I finish. Really. No need to come with.”

Percy smiled. “Oh, how thoughtful! Of course, that is a much better plan.” He said, carefully and gracefully stepping into the compartment. He settled in for a wait while the sergeant quickly closed the door behind him and fled with the corporal. Percy laughed; it never stopped being amusing how people responded to his ‘Lord Percy’ routine.

There was plenty more to occupy his mind while he waited for Sergeant Ramos and Corporal Gonzalez to finish their work than fixating on his act. Locating Marie-Thérèse was his priority and he could not forget that. Even Diego had to come second to the mission.

Hopefully he would hear something noteworthy in Los Angeles. The quicker he could eliminate possible hiding places the better. As it was he could not comfortably rule out Monterey and Santa Barbara as possible locations, given he had spent such a short time in either. However, he could not afford to linger. He must do everything to uphold his persona as an airheaded English lord to avoid suspicion, and as ‘Lord Percy’ would have no reason to linger, neither could he. Percy would have to come back later under guise before he could learn anything substantial.

He had known Diego came from a wealthy family, but if the Comandante was to be believed, his friend was far more influential than expected. That would either make his mission much easier, or it could ruin everything before it could even get off the ground.

He had come to the conclusion that whoever was hiding Marie-Thérèse must be wealthy- only they would have the resources to pull off such a feat. Certainly being friends with an influential family would open more doors than not in the public sphere, and people were often careless with their speech around him, thinking him not capable or concerned with understanding what they were saying. That may be enough to put him on the right track.

But he also needed to keep in mind that the Scarlet Pimpernel almost always obtained success as a member and with members of the common people. He could not afford to alienate them, as funny as his act with the Comandante had been.

The carriage rocked and Percy looked up from his musings. It seemed the corporal was securing the last of Percy’s bags while the sergeant climbed into the driver’s seat. The corporal climbed down and stuck his head through the window. “Aye, sir, we will be ready to leave in just a moment, if you are satisfied?” The corporal asked.

Percy nodded. “Yes, yes, go on.” He said, waving the corporal away, still slightly distracted by his thoughts. The corporal picked up on his distracted state.

“Don’t worry.” He said. “Zorro has been spotted on the road from here to Los Angeles recently, and that has scared most banditos away. I doubt we will meet any on our journey.” Corporal Gonzalez told him comfortingly.

“Zorro?” Percy asked, keeping his interest in check. He had heard whispers about a fox, but this was the first time he was hearing something concrete.

“Si señor. Zorro is an outlaw, but everyone says he is a friend of the people. When he sees injustice he rides in clad in black, astride his black horse, and sword in hand restores justice to the people. At least,” Gonzalez said, flushing from enthusiasm, “that is how the stories go.”

Percy rubbed his chin. “And how do we know this ‘Zorro’ will not attack us? You say he is an outlaw.” He pointed out, but the corporal was already shaking his head.

“Zorro has never gone after carriages like this before, I do not see why he would want to now, even if you are very rich.”

Percy made a show to relax, and gestured to the front of the carriage, “Then I shall take your word for it. Carry on!” He fondly ordered, smiling at Corporal Gonzalez.

The corporal leaned back, speaking rapid Spanish to the sergeant while jumping from the side of the carriage and climbing up to sit next to the sergeant.

In turn the sergeant replied also in breakneck Spanish, and while Percy was no slouch with the language it was clear that while he could speak the language fluently there were still some significant gaps in his education. The sergeant cracked the whip and with a flick of the reins and a harsh word to the horses the carriage lurched forward and they were off.

The horses thundered down the road to Los Angeles.

The roads between Santa Barbara and Los Angeles were not truly roads, but worn and beaten dirt trails. As such it made for quite a bumpy ride, the jostling only exacerbated by the speed at which they travelled.

Had Percy not been alone in the carriage he would have made a show of gripping the carriage door for balance. As it were, however, he was quite used to uncomfortable getaways from Chauvelin, and so was hardly affected. Instead he made use of his time planning his stay in California and made plans for when his original plan would inevitably go awry. Zorro was one such wrench. Percy would clearly need to learn more about him, but if he was lucky, very lucky, Zorro could be just the ally he would need.

The familiar sound of the two-horse carriage was altered by the appearance of several more hoofbeats, and if the shouting and pistol fire that had just broken out around him were anything to go by, those plans would need to be altered earlier than anticipated.

Percy’s hand flew to the rapier at his side and privately thanked God that the Spanish Californian fashion allowed him to wear a sword and yet not seem out of place. He made a mental note of his pistol as well, tucked into his waistband, loaded but not cocked.

Percy drew back the curtain of the carriage window just in time for them to be almost run off the track by what Percy could now see was a gang of bandits, three that he could immediately see, though there could have been more out of sight.

Another gunshot rang out and the carriage rocked as Sergeant Ramos was thrown from his seat. His body landed heavily on the ground. Percy’s heart jolted. “Corporal, stop!” He shouted, leaning out of the window.

Corporal Gonzales turned to gape at him. “Eres loco, señor!” He exclaimed. “No way we can stop- they will kill us!” The corporal urged the horses faster.

“But the Sergeant!”

“We can do nothing. I must keep you alive señor.” The corporal took his eyes off the road long enough to return fire. Percy knew it was futile. He knew from experience that at these speeds and distances any shot that landed was due to luck, not skill.

Percy heard another set of hoofbeats coming up from the other side. He rushed over to the other window, his hand dropping from his sword to hover over the pistol. A quick glance revealed a fourth bandit, dark brown hat drawn over squinted eyes. Without giving it a second thought Percy pulled out his gun and fired off a round towards the bandit. He quickly reloaded the flintlock and managed two more shots. One of them connected and the bandit seized, falling from their horse.

The corporal’s head swung around at the nearby gunfire, and saw Percy partially leaning out the window and the bandit lying in the road. “Gracias señor!” He grinned. He urged the horses faster.

There were still the three other banditos, as well as the status of Sergeant Ramos, to worry about. So far they had managed to avoid serious gunfire, but they were quickly approaching a stony bottleneck. From there the bandits would have the advantage, and more could by lying in ambush.

Percy turned his attention to the ones chasing after them. He had only a few more rounds on his person, and powder had spilled on the floor as he reloaded. He was distantly grateful that his time as the Pimpernel had improved his skill to the degree that he could load and fire a flintlock in half the time it took the average person.

He readied his shot, fired, ducked back in to reload, and fired again. Neither shot landed, but one of the men had swerved to avoid a hit sent his horse stumbling off the road, resulting in him frantically trying to regain control of his mount while the horse kicked and bucked.

In front Corporal Gonzalez let out a sudden gasp. For a moment Percy feared he had been shot. That was put to rest when the corporal let out a loud cry “El Zorro!”

Percy heard the shrill whinny of a stallion and the echoing thunder of hooves and there he was, just as Gonzalez had described, a masked rider decked in all black from his hat to his breeches.

Percy watched as Zorro charged the bandits, who scattered like the wind at his approach. Before long the bandits could not be seen, save for the one Percy had fell, who lay several paces behind.

Corporal Gonzalez halted the carriage, allowing the horses to catch their breath and rest after the hard run. Percy also took advantage of the rest, discretely cleaning up the mess inside the carriage from the pistol. He could faintly hear the sound of Zorro circling back around and approaching the carriage.

Percy tensed. Zorro had not seemed openly hostile, and Corporal Gonzalez had spoken of him favorably, but Percy wasn’t quite sure he trusted the outlaw. It was perhaps hypocritical of him, given his own activities as the Scarlet Pimpernel, but that was half the reason he was wary. He knew what he was capable of- so what could this Zorro do?

Zorro, whether by accident or design, stopped right in front of the carriage window, allowing Percy the perfect opportunity to study him.

“Are you injured Corporal?” Zorro called out.

Corporal Gonzalez shook his head. “I am fine. Those cabrones missed me. Unfortunately they did not miss Sergeant Ramos.” He told the outlaw sadly.

“Yes, I know.” Zorro nodded, then turned his horse to display Sergeant Ramos, unconscious and limp, wrapped in a black cloth and lain across the back of Zorro’s horse. The black-on-black had been easy to overlook. “He’s still alive, though severely injured.”

Percy felt his esteem for the outlaw rise while the corporal thanked Zorro profusely for recovering the sergeant. Percy reached over and opened the carriage door. “Zorro, set the sergeant in here. It would do him far more good than a horseback.” Zorro glanced at him and nodded, assisting Percy in removing the sergeant and settling him inside the carriage.

“You must be Sir Percy Blakeney. I heard of your arrival in Santa Barbara and expected someone to attempt something like this.” He said, gesturing around him to the scene of the firefight.

“Oh, and how did you know I would be here?” Percy asked in the tone of a highbrow aristocrat.

Zorro was clearly taken aback, and took a moment to recover his wits. “No offense, señor, but there are not many men here who look and sound like you, and gossip spreads fast in these parts.” Zorro told him pointedly.

Percy took note of Zorro’s much darker skin, and the tanned skin of Sergeant Ramos and Corporal Gonzalez and internally swore. Another factor he needed to account for.

But he made sure Zorro knew none of those thoughts. “Ah, I’m afraid it’s the same in England. People always going on about whatever or whoever strikes their fancy.” He said sympathetically.

Zorro nodded. “Quite.” He turned to the corporal. “I must ask you Corporal, I have a bounty on my head, and the military seems so eager to catch me, yet you have said nothing of the sort this whole time?”

Corporal Gonzalez shrugged. “It is not so complicated, Señor Zorro. Many months ago you saved the life of my cousin Miguel. I vowed that if I ever saw you, I would not chase you.” He replied and grinned. “But now we are even, and next time we cross paths you will be my prisoner!” He said playfully.

Zorro laughed. “Well, hopefully we will meet again under less dire circumstances, and you are willing to fight me. However, I must wish you all the luck in such a case, for you will surely need it if you desire to be successful.” Zorro returned cheekily.

Corporal Gonzalez laughed. “We shall see, Señor Zorro, who is the lucky one.”

Zorro snorted before regaining control of himself. “At any rate the way ahead is clear, I’ve made sure of it. I’ll stay behind and make sure your friends don’t try for an encore.” He said, pointing his thumb back the way they came.

Zorro brought his horse around and swung the carriage door shut. “Enjoy your trip to Los Angeles, Señor Blakeney.” He said, affecting a slight bow. Percy did not return the gesture, and Zorro did not expect him to. “Buen viaje, señores.” He said, tipping his hat to them. He clicked and dug his heels into the stallion’s sides. The stallion exploded with energy, pounding down the dirt road until he was nearly out of sight in mere moments.

Percy watched Zorro go. Distantly he was aware of the corporal driving the team. Zorro’s words left him uneasy. While Percy could concede that his presence in California would not go unremarked upon, he had also told only a few people of his destination in Los Angeles. All of which were military men and none of which were gossips.

Which begged the question- how had Zorro known?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains the rendering of first aid to a bullet wound. It is not described graphically, but if you are sensitive to such things you will want to skip down to about a third of the way down.

True to Zorro’s word they were not troubled by highwaymen for the rest of the way to Los Angeles; but that was not Percy’s concern at the time. 

 

In the back of the coach he carefully tended to the sergeant, who lay on his side in the seat opposite. The lead shot had struck him in the right side and from what Percy could see it remained there. 

 

This injury was far beyond his meager medical knowledge. A surgeon would need to attend to the sergeant as soon as possible. Immediate action needed to be taken for any hope of the sergeant’s survival.

 

Percy removed the sergeant’s coat and shirt, exposing the wound to the open air. He gently laid the coat over the sergeant’s lower body. Blood welled up from the hole in the sergeant’s side as Percy quickly scanned for other injuries.

 

He could feel himself thrumming with adrenaline. He was moving too slow. The sergeant was going to die. He wasn’t a doctor. He had no idea what he was doing. He would kill the sergeant. 

 

Percy stilled, forcing himself to take a deep breath. Panic would help no one. He closed his eyes and breathed, recentering himself. 

 

Opening his eyes, Percy reached into his jacket, pulling out the supple lambskin gloves he kept there. Slipping them on Percy carefully got to his knees and probed around the wound from either side, ignoring the way the blood pulsed and oozed from the wound and ran over his fingers. His left hand skimmed the sergeant’s side while his right stayed pressed firmly against the wound. He felt the body seize slightly, the sergeant letting out a strangled groan as Percy felt the rib give slightly. Broken.

 

Removing his hand from the man’s ribs, Percy reached down and felt along the sergeant’s leg. His hand stopped and he carefully pulled out the knife he found tucked away. Taking it, he removed his hands from the sergeant long enough to cut the sergeant’s shirt into strips. 

 

Percy took one strip and used it to mop up the blood around the wound. He pushed the flesh apart, wincing as the cavity filled with blood again, and assessed the damage. The entry wound was filled with dirt and grit from where the sergeant had fallen from the carriage. 

 

He removed the flask of water from his side and, careful not to jostle Sergeant Ramos, removed the sergeant’s canteen and his kit as well. Quickly he unscrewed the cap from the first canteen and poured the water over the wound, doing his best to flush out the dirt and prevent infection. He did the same with the second canteen, though it was noticeably lighter at the start. 

 

Percy tossed the empty container to the side and reassessed the wound. It was deep, but the water had definitely helped clean it out. Percy took another length of shirt and wadded it up, pressing it tightly against the wound. Keeping one hand applying pressure Percy unlatched the kit, praying for something he could use- herbs or anything else he could use to make a salve. 

 

He pushed aside the items he couldn’t use, dumping them on the floor, and picked through the rations and other supplies. Percy triumphantly pulled out some bandages- not enough to cover a wound this bad, but far better than nothing. 

 

There were a couple of small metal containers also in the kit. The first one Percy found contained tobacco. No good. The second was empty save for some biscuit crumbs. 

 

The third, however, Percy opened to find honey. Unusual for a sergeant to carry, but a blessing that Percy sent out a quick prayer of thanks to God for. Remembering stories of honey being used to prevent infection, Percy carefully scraped out and lathered the honey onto the bandages, making sure not to miss a drop. He used it to replace the soiled cloth, and grimaced as the honey squelched with the blood and oozed out slightly at the corners as he plugged the hole. 

 

Percy made use of the remnants of the sergeant’s shirt to pad the cover, wadding up strips to bulk up the dressing. He held the lot down for several minutes, and to his relief the flow finally began to ease, though the paleness of Ramos’s face was concerning. 

 

Percy let go of the mass to cut the remainder of the shirt into one long strip, which he used to hold the dressing down and compress the wound. He gently manipulated the sergeant, carefully lifting him enough to get the makeshift bandage wrapped all the way around. Percy brought the two ends together and tied them off tightly. He stuck two fingers under the wrap, checking that it wasn’t too tight. 

 

Percy looked over the sergeant again, searching for anything he may have missed. Satisfied he had done all he could, Percy settled back into his seat for a long wait, keeping a close eye on the sergeant’s condition. 

 

He let out a sigh of relief. It was out of his hands now. Godwilling, Sergeant Ramos would survive the rest of the way to Los Angeles. 

 

Percy grimaced as he removed his ruined gloves. The drying blood made them stiff and they stuck to his hands. With a quick flick of his wrist Percy tossed them out the open window where they would hopefully be swallowed up by the dust of southern California and the evidence they carried destroyed.

 

The next step, Percy thought, was to remove as much evidence of his medical aid as possible. It wouldn’t do for him to claim to be a superficial dandy while his own actions betrayed the ruse. 

 

He leaned down and began gathering the items from the sergeant’s kit that he had scattered on the floor of the carriage. He fit as much as could back into the pack, but he wasn’t a soldier and there were some things he couldn’t get to go back in. He directed a mental apology to Sergeant Ramos as he tossed the leftovers out the window as well. He  _ must _ remove the evidence.

 

Percy closed the kit and set it back down near the sergeant. The next step was to formulate an excuse for why and how the sergeant’s wounds were dressed. 

 

Clearly, he could not claim responsibility, nor could he pass it off as the work of the corporal or Zorro. That left only the sergeant himself, who was in no condition to dress his own wounds.

 

-But Percy was alone in this carriage. 

 

There were no witnesses for what went on inside. He could claim that Sergeant Ramos woke up and tended his own injuries before succumbing and falling unconscious. No one could prove otherwise.

 

Yes. That could work. It would be extraordinary for Sergeant Ramos to do such a thing, true, but with luck the residents of Los Angeles would find that far more believable than the alternative. 

 

Percy looked the inside of the carriage over. Sergeant Ramos still breathed and to Percy’s relief seemed to be regaining his color. The tattered remains of the sergeant’s shirt lay scattered on the floor, but that was fine. There was gunpowder and shot along the floor as well. That was also not incriminating. Percy had never claimed not to be a proficient sportsman, simply one without the brains to do anything with wit or cunning. 

 

The only thing left to betray Percy’s involvement was the bloodstains on his coat jacket and sleeves from where he had brushed up against the sergeant and touched his coat with his bloody hands. 

 

Percy shrugged out of the coat and carefully folded it, making sure no stains were outwardly visible. If any saw he would simply say the stains occurred when Zorro handed him the sergeant to put into the coach. 

 

The carriage bumped as they ran over a rock in the path. Instinctively Percy held out a hand to steady the sergeant. The harsh motion pulled another groan from Sergeant Ramos.

 

Ramos winced, and his eyes opened. He blearily blinked up at Percy, who was frozen in shock.

 

Sergeant Ramos shifted and gasped in pain, his hand twitching towards his side. Percy rushed forward to hold him down. “No, no, no! Don’t move” He hissed to the sergeant. “You’re badly injured; you’ll just aggravate it.” 

 

Sergeant Ramos just stared at him with glassy eyes. 

 

“No te muevas. Est ás gravemente herido.” Percy repeated. 

 

This time Ramos seemed to register his words, and relaxed against the seat. “¿...Cómo?” He whispered hoarsely, his eyes beginning to close.

 

Percy held onto the sergeant firmly. “Te dispararon.” He said gently. “Te están llevando a Los Angeles ahora. Estarás bien.”

 

The sergeant struggled to stay awake. Weakly he brought his hand up to grasp Percy’s arm. “¿El cabo?” He asked urgently.

 

Percy frowned. “¿Que?” The cable? What? He didn’t understand what the sergeant was asking. “Repita.” He demanded. “Repita.”

 

Sergeant Ramos struggled to speak. “El c-cabo. Gonzalez. ¿El vivo?” He asked, focusing on Percy.

 

Percy sagged in understanding. El cabo. The corporal. He was talking about Corporal Gonzalez. “Si, si. Esta bien.” He assured the sergeant, taking hold of the man’s hand and patting it.

 

The sergeant sighed, finally allowing himself to close his eyes. Percy would have been worried had it not been for his steady breathing. He gently placed his hand on the sergeant’s forehead to feel for a fever. Percy shook his head, removing his hand. It was too hot outside and he wasn’t skilled enough to tell. He was beginning to wish he had spared some water to keep himself and the sergeant hydrated, but it was too late now. Hopefully they would arrive at the Cuartel de Los Angeles soon.

 

Percy did his best to keep an eye on the sergeant, though he could feel himself wanting to follow the sergeant to sleep now that the adrenaline was beginning to leave his body. 

 

He was jolted to awareness when he felt the carriage pick up speed and heard Corporal Gonzalez shouting. “Oi! Let us through! Get the doctor! Get the doctor! Let us through!  Ándale! ”

 

Percy worriedly looked to Sergeant Ramos. He was flushed, but breathing. 

 

Percy stuck his head out the window. They were approaching the heart of a town. Gonzalez was waving away the military guard and yelling to the people in the street to get out of the way. Percy could see a large walled structure a ways off further down. It was most likely the Los Angeles cuartel. 

 

Percy ducked back inside the carriage and did his best to make himself look presentable as an English gentleman.  

 

The carriage was brought to a sudden stop and Percy suspected they were in front of the Cuartel now. “What is the meaning of this corporal? You are disturbing the people.” Percy heard the slow, cheerful voice outside ask.

 

Thankfully Corporal Gonzalez did not spare time for pleasantry. “Sir, we were ambushed by banditos and my sergeant is gravely injured. He needs to see a doctor immediately.” Corporal Gonzalez said urgently. “Here are our papers but please, send for the doctor first.”

 

The was a pause, a heavy silence that echoed throughout the pueblo. The stranger’s voice returned. “You heard him! Go call the doctor!” He said, sounding flustered as he shouted to another unseen soldier. “The sergeant is inside, yes?” He asked the corporal, who Percy presumed nodded, for not a moment later the door opened and Percy was greeted with the image of a rotund sergeant- if his stripes were anything to go by.

 

The new sergeant did not seem to notice Percy as he inspected Sergeant Ramos. “Do not worry sergeant,” the stranger said, gently patting the unconscious man, “Doctor Ruiz is the best doctor you will ever find. He will fix you right up.” 

 

Percy cleared his throat, putting on the mask of a harsh English aristocrat. “I highly doubt  _ he _ is the one needing assurances in this case,” he said, pitching his voice high and thready. 

 

The sergeant startled, spinning and slightly losing his balance to address Percy. “Ah! My apologies! I was so concerned about the sergeant I did not see you se ñor.” The sergeant quickly backed out of the carriage and held his hand out to Percy. “Here, let me help you out of there.”

 

Percy took his hand and daintily stepped down. “It’s absolutely shameful that we were accosted in such a manner on our way here. Absolutely dreadful.” He complained. “How can such things be allowed? Why, I’ve half a mind to write to the governor about whoever is in charge and demand their dismissal for the state of things!”

 

The fat sergeant grimaced. “Well, I am the one in charge here. But please, señor, wait until after we have seen to the sergeant to you yell at me.” He asked Percy earnestly, smiling tightly and wringing his hands.

 

Percy frowned. There was no reason for a simple sergeant to be in charge of an entire Cuartel, especially one like Los Angeles. He very much doubted the man in front of him had any power at all- in charge or no. He could not rightly cause this man further distress. Percy let out a great sigh. “My apologies. This whole event has made me quite anxious, you see.” He told the sergeant kindly.

 

The sergeant shrugged. “It is alright. There was no harm done.” 

 

Percy refrained from response at the sound of approaching footsteps. A skinny corporal ran up to them, and an older man in a long brown overcoat and large hat clutching a case came up behind him. Farther back Percy could see two more men following with a stretcher.

 

The corporal saluted. “Sergeant Garcia I brought Dr. Ruiz just as you asked.”

 

Sergeant Garcia nodded. “Very good. Thank you Corporal Reyes.” He turned to the older gentleman who must be Dr. Ruiz. “Doctor, your man is inside. He was shot by banditos.”

 

Doctor Ruiz frowned. “That is serious. Show me to him at once.” He demanded. Sergeant Garcia scrambled to open the carriage door for him. The doctor climbed inside, bringing his medical bag with him.

 

Percy looked to Sergeant Garcia. “If you don't mind,” he said wearily, “it has been a long trip, and I would like to sit down.” 

 

“Oh of course, of course, señor.” Garcia exclaimed. “The inn next door is quite nice, and their wine is very good if I do say so myself.” He chuckled. “I will be happy to share a glass to welcome you to Los Angeles.” Garcia offered. He looked at him with trepidation. “But first, señor, I must ask for your business in Los Angeles- procedure, you know?” He said carefully.

 

Percy fought to keep the irritation off his face. He truly did want to rest, but he could not fault Garcia for doing his job. “I am Sir Percival Blakeney, here to visit an old friend of mine.” He said, drawing himself up proudly. Behind him he heard the doctor call for his aides to bring the stretcher. “His name is Diego de la Vega. He can vouch for my character.” Percy was elbowed out of the way of the stretcher. Sergeant Garcia was quick to reach out for him, and grasped his arm tightly.

 

“You are a friend of Don Diego?” He said excitedly. “That is wonderful! Any friend of Don Diego is welcome here.” Garcia cheered, vigorously shaking Percy's hand. 

 

Percy was amused even as he carefully extracted his hand from the sergeant's grip. “That's… very nice to hear.” 

 

Dr. Ruiz opened the door to the coach. “Sergeant Garcia! Help me move this man onto the stretcher!” He called out. Garcia dropped his hands and immediately moved to assist the doctor. From what Percy could see the doctor had replaced his bandages. “Take him and get my surgical supplies. Be careful not to jostle him.” The doctor ordered his aides. Doctor Ruiz stepped out of the coach. 

 

Percy turned back to Sergeant Garcia, now that Sergeant Ramos was being taken away. “If that’s all, I would like to retire.” He said.

 

Garcia smiled. “Si, yes, get some rest. If you’d like, I can send someone to the de la Vega hacienda and let them know you have arrived.”

 

Percy allowed a genuine smile of gratitude show. “Thank you, that would be much appreciated.” He made to leave but was suddenly stopped by the hand of Doctor Ruiz.

 

“Wait.” The doctor commanded. “You are the one who dressed the sergeant’s wounds, yes?” He asked, stepping into Percy’s personal space, staring intently into his eyes. 

 

Percy pulled back his arm, taking a quick step away from the doctor. “I don’t know what you mean, good sir.” He said hastily, a tense, polite smile affixed on his face. “Sergeant Ramos woke briefly and attended to himself.”

 

Dr. Ruiz scoffed. “That’s impossible.” He dismissed with a turn of his head. “The sergeant was too badly injured.” 

 

“Why,” Percy laughed airily, “surely you aren’t suggesting  _ I _ bandaged the sergeant’s wound?” He asked, laughing at the absurdity of the notion.

 

But Doctor Ruiz was not to be dissuaded so easily. “That’s right, I am.” He said firmly.

 

Percy smiled at the doctor the way adults smiled at their children when they said something particularly foolish. “Don’t be silly, doctor. I wouldn’t have even the slightest clue where to start with something so messy.” Percy grimaced and shuddered. “At any rate it would have completely ruined my clothes.” He said matter-of-factly. “I mean,” he said, reaching into the coach and pulling out his jacket, “look at the state of my coat from simply setting the man inside! It’s ruined! And no doubt things would be much worse if I had actually tended to the sergeant!” Percy exclaimed with horror.

 

Doctor Ruiz grabbed at the jacket, inspecting it, then eyed Percy’s lace and frill. He dropped it with a huff. “Very well, I suppose you would know after all.” He conceded with distaste. “Sergeant Garcia!” He turned to the sergeant, who jumped at the shout. “I’ll send you word when Sergeant Ramos is out of surgery.”

 

“Thank you Doctor Ruiz!” Sergeant Garcia said gratefully. “We are all very concerned and anxious to see him well again.” Garcia hesitated. “He will be well again, right doctor? We are not too late I hope?” He asked softly.

 

Doctor Ruiz looked at the sergeant with no small amount of compassion. “He has good chances.” He told Garcia kindly. “The wound was not as bad as it first seemed. And  _ Sergeant Ramos _ ,” Percy did not miss the way Doctor Ruiz’s eyes slid to look at him, “did a good job tending to his wounds. He did not make any stupid mistakes. It likely saved his life.” Percy refrained from shifting uneasily under the doctor’s stare and pretended not to notice at all. Dr. Ruiz looked back to Garcia. “We will not know, of course, until after surgery, but he has lasted this long, so I think Sergeant Ramos has a good chance for a full recovery.” 

 

Sergeant Garcia beamed. “That is very good to hear doctor. I will make sure that the men know too.”

 

Doctor Ruiz clapped Garcia’s shoulder once before collecting his bag. “Hopefully you will hear from me in a few hours.” He told the sergeant, and left in the same direction his aides had taken Sergeant Ramos.  

 

Percy clapped his hands together delightedly, distracting Garcia from Doctor Ruiz’s words. “Sergeant, I believe you said something about a drink?” 

 

Garcia laughed. “Yes at the inn! Come, I’ll show you around.” He said, leading Percy to the inn. “Then I will take you to the de la Vega hacienda myself.”

 

Percy smiled. “Why that’s very kind.” He told the sergeant.

 

Garcia blushed. “It is only my job Se ñor, ah, Blakeney, was it?”

 

Percy looked at him with surprise. “You’re right! That’s very good.” He said, sounding impressed. “You are very good with names Sergeant.” Percy praised, tapping his eyeglass against the sergeant’s chest. 

 

Garcia puffed up with pride. “Si, I know everyone here in Los Angeles.” He boasted.

 

“Is that so?” Percy mused. 

 

Garcia nodded. “Everyone. Why, I have lived here almost my whole life! You won’t find anyone better to show you around señor.”

 

Percy laughed. “How wonderful.” He hummed. “I may have to take you up on that.”

 

Garcia blushed and smiled at Percy. “You are too kind, señor. And I am sure that Don Diego would want to be the one to show his friend around Los Angeles, not me.” He said modestly as he lead Percy to the building across from the Cuartel.  

 

The inn was bustling despite the somewhat late hour. The sole waitress flitted from table to table, taking orders and filling drinks. 

 

Garcia plowed through the crowd to an empty table near the back wall. Percy's face pinched in distaste when a drunk patron sloshed his drink onto his shirt while stumbling past. "This is quite a... charming... place, Sergeant." He said, nimbly avoiding another patron and seating himself.

 

Garcia beamed, taking no apparent notice of Percy's tone. "Yes it is, I agree. No finer establishment around." He directed the last bit to the waitress walking past. 

 

She stopped and turned to him. "Oh don't think you can get away with flattery here!" She scolded him, placing a hand on her hip. "You still haven't paid your tab from the last time you were here. I've been told not to serve you until it's paid off for good!"

 

Garcia groaned. "Ah! Don't be like that Maria. I am just trying to show this man a good time," He pled, gesturing to Percy, "He has had a very difficult trip, and needs a drink. You would not deny him that would you?"

 

The waitress looked Percy over. "Can he pay?" She asked Garcia. 

 

Percy made to be offended, but Garcia interrupted him before he could get a word out. "He is a friend of Don Diego, and I cannot make a friend of Don Diego pay for his own drinks señorita." Garcia explained. "I will pay for his drinks."

 

Maria scoffed. "You haven't even paid for your own!"

 

"Just one bottle." 

 

"Not until you clear your tab!"

 

"A few glasses won't make much of a difference."

 

"I've already told you once, now either pay or get out. I've got customers who actually pay for their drinks to tend to."

 

Percy cleared his throat, breaking up their back-and-forth. "Really Sergeant, allow me to buy your drink, you've been more than helpful enough to earn it." He coaxed. He really didn't have enough money to throw around like this, but appearances were everything, and furthermore he really, really wanted a stiff drink sooner rather than later.

 

Garcia made a show of hesitance, though Percy could see the sergeant was eager to take him up on his offer. "Why, Señor Blakeney, you are a friend of Don Diego, I couldn't possibly-"

 

"Oh nonsense. If I can't afford to pay for one drink I'd be in a sorry state indeed." He tutted. "As a matter of fact, how much is Sergeant Garcia's tab, miss?"

 

Maria looked at him in surprise while behind Garcia protested. "It's 30 pesos, señor." She said.

 

Internally Percy was alarmed at the price. Just how much did Sergeant Garcia drink? He made a careful show that none of his thoughts were expressed on his face. "Well now that's hardly enough to be making a fuss about." He lied, pulling out his purse and counting the money. He reached out and placed the silver pieces into Señorita Maria's hand. "That should cover it now, should it?"

 

Shocked, Maria nodded, her mouth falling open slightly at the casual display of wealth. "Si señor, that'd do it." She breathed, staring at the coins in her hand then at Percy numbly. "I'll get your drinks right away." She said, gripping the coins tightly and walking away, daring to look back at Percy once and nearly running into a chair. 

 

Garcia leaned forward. "Señor Blakeney, you did not need to do that. I would have been fine."

 

Percy waved him off. "Don't even think about it." He told Garcia primly. 

 

Garcia shifted, clearly not knowing how to deal with Percy's attitude. "Oh. Well. Then thank you señor, that is very generous of you." He said, grinning at Percy. 

 

Percy gave a tight smile back, crossing one leg over the other. "No trouble."

 

Garcia took it upon himself to carry the conversation. "Don Diego will be very excited to see you again I am sure. He mentioned the other day that he would be expecting a friend, though no offense señor, but you are very different from how I imaged you to be."

 

"Oh? How so?" Percy said carefully. 

 

Garcia seemed to have sensed he had misstepped, though unaware of as to how. "Ah, that is to say- what I mean is- I do not mean it in a bad way, señor. It's just that you are much more- I was expecting someone less- the men here are- so I was thinking you would be- Don Diego said you met in Spain, so I thought- well." Garcia winced. "You are much more..." Percy lifted a single eyebrow, waiting to see how Garcia would end that sentence. "...English... than I was expecting." Garcia finished, blotting his forehead.    

 

Percy laughed, putting Garcia out of his misery. “Well, I suppose it can’t be helped.” Percy said kindly, shrugging.  

 

“Ah, si señor.” Garcia smiled. 

 

Percy leaned back in his seat, surveying the room. For the most part the patrons of El Águila de Oro paid him no mind, with the exception of the occasional curious glance. However, one person, a young indian man, stood out. He stood in the far corner of the room and seemed singularly focused on his drink. Percy frowned. Something about the young man seemed incredibly familiar, like a face in a dream…

 

“Sergeant Garcia, who is that young man over there?” Percy asked, nodding to the corner where the man stood.

 

Garcia spun around in his chair, eager to help. It took a moment for him to recognize who Percy was asking about. When he did, the sergeant’s face broke out in a wide smile. “Why, we are in luck! That is Bernardo, Señor. He is Don Diego’s manservant.” 

 

Percy let himself show his genuine surprise. “Why, I hardly recognized him. Last I saw him, Bernardo was just a boy.” Indeed, Bernardo had grown fully, though now that Percy knew him, he could see the familiar features.

 

Garcia stood, his chair scraping along the wooden flooring. “This is wonderful, I will call Bernardo over and he can find Don Diego for us. Then you will not have to wait till we get to the de la Vega hacienda to see your friend again.” Garcia exclaimed cheerfully.

 

“That would be most convenient.” Percy concurred.

 

Garcia stuck an arm in the air and waved. “Oi, Bernardo! Bernardo, over here!” He shouted through the din of the bar. 

 

Surprisingly, Bernardo seemed to be ignoring Garcia. Percy noticed Bernardo refused to acknowledge Sergeant Garcia, though Percy was sure Bernardo could hear Garcia. Garcia was not a quiet man.   

 

After a moment Garcia stopped mid-call. “Ah, I forgot Bernardo is deaf and cannot hear.” He said sheepishly, blushing. Trying to regain his dignity, Garcia straightened his uniform and elbowed his way through the crowd to Bernardo to retrieve the manservant. He took no notice of Percy’s expression of surprise.

 

Suddenly aware of his face, Percy schooled his features into a more neutral expression. When he had last seen Bernardo the youth had had excellent hearing, exceptional even. What terrible misfortune had befallen the mute young man to rob him of his hearing as well?

 

Carefully Garcia lead Bernardo to their table. Reaching it, Garcia pulled out a chair for Bernardo, “Please sit, my friend.” He said kindly, motioning for Bernardo to take a seat. Bernardo smiled at him gratefully and sat down. Once he was settled he looked at Percy curiously. By the lack of recognition Percy figured Bernardo did not recognize him either. 

 

Bernardo looked at Garcia curiously, and gestured to Percy. ‘ _ Who is this? _ ’ his expression asked.

 

Garcia quickly took his own seat, practically shaking in excitement. Percy was vaguely reminded of his dog, and how the scrappy thing was always so eager to please. “Señor Blakeney is here to see Don Diego, he says they are old friends.” Garcia explained.

 

Bernardo frowned. Then he pointed to his ear and shook his head. ‘ _ I don’t understand. _ ’

 

Garcia huffed. “This is,” he said loudly, pointing to Percy, “Sir,” here he straightened and mimed waving a sword around, “Percy Blakeney.” He spoke loudly and slowly, as if either would help a deaf man. If anything poor Bernardo seemed even more confused, looking from Garcia, to Percy, then back again. “He is here,” Garcia went on, pointing to Percy then using his fingers to indicate a person walking, “to see,” Garcia said, pointing to his eyes, “Don Diego.” He finished, indicating to Bernardo then making a show of adjusting his uniform. 

 

The crease in Bernardo’s brow deepened. 

 

Realizing that Bernardo still didn’t understand, Garcia slumped back into his seat. “Oh forget it,” he sighed, waving Bernardo’s confused stare off. “Aye, I need a drink.” He groaned, pulling out his handkerchief and blotting at his forehead again.

 

It was then, as soon as Garcia had given up, that Bernardo finally seemed to recognize Percy. Shooting up from his seat he pointed wildly at Percy, his face betraying his utter shock at seeing the Englishman again. ‘ _ You! What are you doing here? _ ’ He signed to Percy.

 

Percy smiled. Bernardo, at least, did not seem upset at his sudden appearance in Los Angeles. “What? Can’t a fellow visit an old friend?” He said mildly, signing along. 

 

It was at that moment that, as if like the devil himself, Don Diego de la Vega stepped into El Águila de Oro. Percy saw him immediately, and watched as Diego scanned the crowd for his friend. He watched as Diego lit up when he finally noticed Bernardo sitting with Sergeant Garcia. He watched as Diego approached their table, his entire posture open with ease and surety. And he watched when Diego finally took notice of him, and his eyes widening in shocked recognition.

 

Diego de la Vega stopped in his tracks and positively beamed at Percy. “Percy Blakeney, is that you?”

  
Percy could help but return the grin. It seemed his fears of his friend’s rejection were unfounded, and Percy smiled genuinely for the first time since arriving in California. 


End file.
